


Peas in a Pod

by Beefgoddess



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Historical, Humor, Pirates, Romance, sparrabeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:48:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beefgoddess/pseuds/Beefgoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reimagining of the Pirates franchise. This story takes place during the first movie...Jack and Elizabeth are marooned, but something very different from the film occurs. What if there were no 'white sails on the horizon' as she thought? All characters expected to take part in the story, but the primary focus is on Jack/Elizabeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this in 2004, but it quickly lost steam after I watched the PotC sequels. I never throw anything away, though, with the hope that eventually (as in now) I get back around to the fic and edit it and bring it to my liking! So here goes! There are several chapters and a full detailed outline, I just have to proofread the heck out of them, and then they will post. Expect the next few updates to be about weekly.
> 
> By the way, this takes place during the first film, and involves as many canon characters (and possibly one or two OCs) as I can stuff into the story. Jack and Elizabeth are STILL on that island, but that is where my fic ventures off on its own.

"Must've been terrible for you to be trapped here, Jack. Must've been terrible—well, it bloody is now!" Jack Sparrow spat behind himself to Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter as he stormed hastily through the sand to further distance himself from the girl and the flaming palm trees. Blasted girl burnt everything! They'd surely die on the island now. Maybe he should've taken the opportunity to shoot the girl when her back was turned. It'd have been a more graceful death than starvation.

He paused in his stride, narrowing his eyes into the scorching Caribbean sun out at the horizon, over the expanse of water and nearly flawless sky, speckled with fleecy clouds here and there. If it hadn't have been such a cursed place, he could almost call the scene before him enchanting, but when he swiveled back to the massive plume of smoke billowing into the air behind him and could make out Elizabeth's tiny figure pacing on the shoreline, he was reminded of the rum that had been treacherously and ruthlessly wasted. How was he to know that the slight, fair thing contained such visceral brutality that she should put a trove of liquor to flame instead of using it to her disposal?

Jack's mouth curved downward into a scowl and he continued stomping through the hot granules that burned the soles of his bare feet. He had been so bleeding close to having the prized Black Pearl back in his possession, but Bootstrap's eunuch son had deliberately made a mess of things. The boy was ambitious and eager, certainly the spawn of his father – fruit of the loins so to speak, but a foolish one at that. Jack could nearly say that he was fond of Turner because of how alike he and William Turner senior were…almost.

Because of Will's rash actions, Jack was forced to watch Barbossa sail away on his ship once again, and forced to be stranded on the godforsaken spit of land with, of all people, Elizabeth bloody Swann.

Ah, Miss Swann. She sure is a headstrong little spitfire, Jack thought, grinning to himself. She definitely was far too impetuous to exercise suitable decorum, but he liked that about the lass. In a curious way, she reminded him much of himself, despite her tender upbringing and fair sex. No, if Jack had to choose amongst the crew he'd quitted not long ago, he'd prefer the girl for her winning personality and the challenge she presented, but not just for those reasons, of course. He enjoyed her forced company for motives that were too lewd to be proper. Pirate — he reminded himself. Propriety has no place in piracy.

Jack discovered a particularly comfortable spot beneath an unscathed palm tree and sat in its shade, sighing as he lay against the trunk, hoping against reason that the raging inferno yonder would preserve at least a fraction of the tiny isle so that survival was at least somewhat feasible.

Elizabeth paced across the seashore until the sun had begun to sink in the sky, casting vivid pinks and oranges into the clouds. The signal fire behind her had been reduced to mildly smoldering embers. The plan borne of impulsivity and scorching devastation had claimed about a quarter of the island's flora, but she'd figured it meant little since the Royal Navy had without a doubt commenced their search and was going to rescue her, in any given moment.

However, the darkness stole into the sky and in its wake blotted out the sun's brilliance, revealing a creeping full moon surrounded by stars, which slowly illuminated their splendor; all beautiful in their own natural magnificence, and yet —no ship, no white sails. Her stomach turned over not for the first time that day since Jack had stormed off. Was she doomed to be here forever? What if the plan that she had deemed as genius hadn't worked? What would Jack do to her if he found out that his rum had been wasted?

She huffed, wringing her hands in nervous anticipation. She hadn't seen anything of the captain since his hasty departure, just his footprints in the white sand. Had he left? Had he discovered a way off of the island and escaped and left her to rot out of spite? He was after all a pirate. Such actions would not be a surprise from one of that lifestyle. Pirates were, at least according to figures of authority and authors of the adventure novels she had pored over and treasured as a girl of yesteryear, heartless, mindless creatures that harbored no compassion for humanity.

Even the part of her brain that registered the thought didn't believe it. Jack would never abandon her, despite what had transpired the last few days since their first encounter. He'd rescued her from drowning and sailed with Will to save her from Barbossa and the undead crew. No, he was unlike any pirate she'd ever read or heard about. An odd paradox between gentlemanly honor and disobedience – the ultimate rebel – one that refused to adhere to pirate code or society's moral compass. He was a pirate and a good man.

She hated to admit it, but she longed for the pirate captain's blasted company. The quiet solitude was enough to drive her to madness and – God help her – she inevitably came to the conclusion that she needed Jack Sparrow's presence. She needed desperately to hear the pirate's rough voice. She decided to set off and find him.

Elizabeth followed his tread marks to the eastern side of the island and every so often let her gaze sweep over the sea as if to find those Royal Navy colors flapping in the wind perched above the mainmast of the Dauntless. She tapped her fingers together in frustration at the lonesome, rolling waves, and then peered into the mass of palm trees further into the island. She spotted the captain immediately, a spectacle of a man in his unique dress and mannerisms; he was sitting cross-legged in front of a small fire, his hand poised above the flames. The previous determination and courage left her considerably and she waited, anxious for Jack's reaction to her presence, slowing her purposeful stroll to a near standstill. She crept closer to him, then stopped abruptly when his head turned sharply and he peered over at her with an air heavy with suspicion. In spite of the tension his demeanor presented, his eyes were subdued, a visage she thought she'd never witness upon Jack Sparrow's animated face.

"Did you finally find leave from your post, Miss Swann? Anything worth noting on the horizon? White sails and such?" came the voice, the earnest words enveloped in condescending suggestion.

She sniffed haughtily, crossing her arms and glaring at the side of his head after he resumed his ministrations.

"Regrettably, no."

A few heartbeats passed in silence, save for the hushed ebb and flow of the tide and the occasional shriek of gulls flying in the distance.

"You may come over 'ere, Miss Swann. I don't bite." His voice was just as grave as his eyes had been. Elizabeth's nerves quieted somewhat, although she did not care for the low weariness of his tone and the quiet behavior – she likened it to Jack, the infernally sly con artist, always concocting a scheme to confound and conquer whomever he considered to be in the way of what he desired, accepting defeat.

"Thank you," she mumbled, closed the distance between them, pulled her skirt up and took a seat directly across the fire from him. One side of his wildly expressive mouth darted upward into a half-smile and the hand held above the flames moved as he turned a makeshift spit. The fire crackled merrily and she was fleetingly enamored with the efficiency the man revealed when put to the challenge of surviving amidst the overwhelming odds.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, tucking a honey-colored strand of hair behind her ear.

"Caught meself a fish," he announced, plucking the crude stick away from the fire and revealing the indiscernible hunk of singed meat to her. "Little buggers all over the place over there a-ways." A bejeweled hand motioned toward the shallows somewhere of to the left of him with a manner not unlike pretentious indifference. She stared at the meat and felt her middle tighten hungrily, but noticed with disdain that what he had caught could hardly pass as a meal for one, no less two ravenous individuals who had not had a decent bite to eat for quite some time.

"There is enough for both of us?" she asked, the suddenness of her appetite for whatever he had there edging her voice.

His eyebrows raised dramatically, the half-grin resurfacing. "Oh, I apologize, milady. If I had known you were hungry, I'd have caught more for the two of us."

She nodded, her eyes a-lit with hostility, lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you simply expecting me to starve?"

The arrogant, sidelong grin that remained halfway emerged finally opened into a boisterous, toothy smile, gold and all. "Oh, not to worry, young missy. I never forgot 'bout you," he replied, passing her a large, flat palm leaf with blackened lumps on top of it. He recognized the hesitance as she studied the remains of whatever it had been before his demolishing of the poor creature. "I fear I may have overcooked it a bit."

Elizabeth tried to remain stoic, but couldn't help the good-natured chuckle and took the leaf, casting him an apologetic smile. "You're very kind to do this, Captain. Thank you."

He studied her inquisitively, and then shook his head once, dismissive. "I may be the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish Main, love, but I have a touch of honesty left inside my weasely black heart." He allowed his piercing gaze to rake over her until she felt unnerved, and then he righted himself, choosing to direct the next self-important comment to her brazen behavior. "At least when compared to some." The gilt in his smirk glinted off of the firelight. She reddened, her mind immediately going to the previous night when she had purposely gotten him drunk in order to carry out her botched scheme. "Don't get me wrong, love. I admire a person who's willing to do whatever's necessary."

Their eyes met and held for the first time since she'd located him. Her noble chin went up firmly. "You're a smart man, Jack," she said as he chewed his fish quietly, "but I don't entirely trust you." Something in his stare altered and he stood, ambled to her side and stooped down, until his face was inches from hers. Her pulse quickened and she felt drawn into the fathomless obsidian depths of his eyes.

"Peas in a pod, darlin'," Jack whispered, gesturing at the two of them with his finger. He remained half-bent above her, and noticed the parting of her lips and the change in her breathing until an impudent leer snuck onto his face. He backed away feeling satisfied with the reaction he'd received from her and went to his side of the fire once again, bit off a chunk of fish from his twig and stretched his body out with a self-assured languor, then folded a hand under his head.

Elizabeth felt the burn of excitement turn into anger. How dare he…he…make her feel like she did! He knew exactly how to make her blood simmer, how to generate such a reaction; it was only natural that she'd swoon as he knelt so close to her face that she could see the very lashes which bordered his eyes and could feel his hot breath on her flesh. She seethed at the foreign, yet atrocious need that had pooled into her middle.

She was very well aware of his way with women. The books she'd pored over as a girl boasted of the myriad of mistresses that he left at many a harbor. It also suggested the rumor of his having a gaggle of wives, up and down the seaboard of the American Colonies, some in the West Indies and even as far as Africa.

Elizabeth scoffed at the notion, which caused the man to turn his head.

"What was tha', love?" he murmured, eyelids drooped to slits in near slumber. She considered remaining silent in order to avoid any further awkward conversation, but curiosity got the better of her.

"In the stories, it's gossiped that you have thirteen wives and more mistresses than stars in the heavens."

A raspy, condescending laugh. "You believe everything you read in those stories of yours, Miss Swann?"

"It isn't true?"

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't."

She shot him an agitated look. "If your island escape was a fabrication, I suppose said rumor is as well." Furthering the continued disappointment, she supposed it was inevitable that her fantasy of a pirate's carefree life with no bounds, no rules, no constraints should be ruined completely.

"Oh, there be a few wenches awaiting their Captain's return." He waved his hand around absent-mindedly. "But truth be told, this man has never made a sacred vow, 'cept to his one and only true love, the Black Pearl."

Elizabeth's snort was quite unladylike. She should have seen that answer coming.

"'Sides, Miss, 't'ain't a grand idea bringing aboard a married fellow, leaving behind his wife and child."

Her mind immediately went to Will. He'd talked often of his mother and her courage and strength. He admired her zealous effort to live even in the absence of Will Sr., despite the ferociously poverty-stricken house they'd inhabited and the tiny rations of food. He never really talked about his father, except that he had become a merchant sailor to provide for his wife and child, when his visits home were too far and too long in between. It was common for a sailor to spend long durations at sea, so this was what Will had assumed as a boy when he hadn't bothered to contact them, even after years of silence. Elizabeth felt a sadness for him as she remembered his father had turned to piracy and rampaged the Spanish Main with the likes of Barbossa and Jack Sparrow instead of returning home where he belonged.

No wonder Will hated the very thought of his father as a pirate.

"Why did Will Turner, Sr. sail on the Black Pearl if it was such a bad thing to have a married man on board?"

"He was a fine carpenter and a good man. Difficult to find in these days of ignorance and depravity." Jack's voice had dipped into a low tone, almost as if consumed with remorse.

"A pirate and a good man? Could there be such a thing?"

"Yes, Miss Swann. He was an honorable scalawag. Not sure if that makes any sort of sense, but 'tis true." Jack paused, hesitantly. "When I went on board ship as a boy, he took me in, taught me the ropes. Everything I know 'bout sailing."

She hummed softly. "He must have meant a great deal to you. You speak of him fondly."

The pirate was still for a moment, pondering with his stare downcast. "I suppose you may presume he had played a fatherly role in my early merchant days."

Her eyebrows darted upward. Oh, how Will would react to such words! "A fatherly role? When his son back in England desperately needed said fatherly role?"

Jack blew an annoyed sigh. "Well, Miss Swann, you've managed to exhaust me with your incessant babbling about marriage and the paternal influence of men and their eunuch progenies. So, if you'll excuse me, I'd like very much to fall into a peaceful sleep."

Elizabeth set her mouth in a firm line, watching the man settle into the sand in complete carelessness, then turned her eyes to the ocean. The tide was coming in so that the waves rolled much heavier than in the day, and left a line of white foam on the shore; it was hypnotizing, almost seductive in its tumbling gesture. The water glistened under the increasingly silver reflection of the full moon, casting a thousand sparkles across the surface.

She stared for a long time, in a trance, lulled by the crashing sounds and continuous motions, letting her thoughts stray to Will and the crew of the Black Pearl. What was he doing or thinking at that very moment? Would she ever see him again? Was she so destined to die apart from Will and never live to know what it was like to hold him in her arms and whisper words of love to the man in which her heart truly desired? Was he going to die with a knife at his throat? Was Jack Sparrow to be the last person she'd ever lay eyes on?

Tears spilled from her eyes when she realized that more than likely sweet William Turner would perish at the hand of Barbossa.

Elizabeth fought the terrible ache of despair rising in her chest and finally let sleep take her as she lay back turning from the slowly dying fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are Will and Jack's crew going to be saved from certain death? By who?

Will Turner's thoughts lingered on Elizabeth from the instant she had disappeared with the pirate captain, to the moment he was currently in; thoughts straying too long; however, in his current condition he simply no longer cared how society felt about being a good proper lad who respected and admired the noble lady from afar, as he had before. Before all of this. Before Jack Sparrow, before the cursed pirates. When his world made sense, even if he must accept his lowly position and that he would very likely have to watch the woman of his dreams marry a man of high and noble ranking instead of he.

As he sat on the clapboard floor in the Black Pearl's brig, he remembered the expression on her face the moment before she'd fallen into the unforgiving ocean. Her eyes were wide with terror as she glanced over her shoulder at him. He would never forget the shriek she let out as her body toppled off of the plank and the splash that followed afterward. He could only hope to God that she knew how to swim and wouldn’t drown or fall susceptible to the mélange of creatures within the deep. Dangerous fish and wildlife aside, Elizabeth very well may be a strong swimmer and still find herself sinking into Davy Jones’ Locker if she succumbed to fatigue and could not go on any longer. And if she made it to the island, he prayed even harder that Jack would harbor enough restraint, seeing as he was an honest pirate and all, and leave the girl unsullied.

He closed his eyes, trying desperately not to imagine Jack Sparrow's filthy hands on Elizabeth's flimsy little shift. Why did Barbossa have to practically strip her to her undergarments and maroon her with none other than a womanizing pirate like Jack?

Will had read the infamous stories of the wild, raucous adventures featuring Captain Jack Sparrow, including his exploits with women. It wasn’t that he thought Elizabeth would submit to Jack’s whim, as she was certainly no shrinking violet, but the two were condemned to the speck of land alone, where law had no way of intervening had the man decided to violate her. Will hadn’t had time to know the man well enough to trust him entirely. He felt an irrational spark of jealousy at the veracity of the situation. Why not me? Why wasn’t it I who was stranded on the isle with Miss Swann?

He knew why – it was because of his father, the link he had in blood to Bootstrap Bill. The only reason he was not on that spit of land, or dead – yet – was simply because of the man he had only known as a small boy. Who had abandoned his family for the miscreants he was now entangled with.

"What's troublin' you, Will Turner?" came Joshamee Gibbs' gruff voice. The younger man peered over to the cell directly across from his where Jack's crew stood in their cramped quarters, crowded together. Gibbs let his elbows rest on the flatiron bars.

"Jack wouldn't…commit any transgressions upon an innocent girl, would he?" Will asked tentatively, scraping his fingers over his scalp to push the spindly mess of hair into some sort of order.

Gibbs visibly tensed, glaring with barely contained anger. Will thought his question had merit, but he realized he’d insulted the Black Pearl’s crew by speaking ill of their captain. Despite their insistence to practice strict adherence to the pirate code —truly, a contradiction in terms— the allegiance they had to the man indicated otherwise. "Captain would never do such a thing to Miss Elizabeth, nor to any other woman. He detests a man who ravishes a woman, harlot or no. Even killed a few who done it, as it were. Or is it that you've forgotten, lad, that he's a good man?"

"My apologies. But need I remind you that he is a pirate and she is a beautiful lady?"

Anamaria snarled next to Joshamee. "Did ye not hear Mr. Gibbs? Jack is no assaulter of women!"

“No offense to any of you,” Will muttered, gaze wandering over the small group of misfits that made up Jack’s disheveled crew. “I have only known the man for a short amount of time. I have no way of knowing his true intent, since he seems to do only what is beneficial for himself, in spite of the consequences.”

Gibbs held his hand up when Anamaria once again allowed her features to become enveloped in rage. It appeared that the young woman never had any middling reaction to anything. It was either explosive temper or disquieting impassiveness. “Fall back, love.”

“Ya keep your endearments to yourself, ya filthy sod. And you mind your tongue, Turner. One more word questioning Captain Jack’s honor and I’ll cut the blasted thing clean from your mutinous mouth!”

Gibbs rolled his eyes while Cotton squirmed uncomfortably and Will frowned, glancing at his hands to break the intense stare down between him and the fierce piratess. “Pay no attention to Anamaria. She cannot control her rage, especially when it has to do with a certain daft pirate captain that explored her affections and then stole her boat while she was sleeping like the dead.”

Will felt relieved, albeit nervous, of their unwavering loyalty. He was pleased that they insisted on his integrity, but felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding if he continued to pursue the conversation. He knew just as he could only deem the troupe 'acquaintances' at that particular point in their quest, they also did not know or trust him either. The concept of them turning against him if he kept going any further did not bode well for his physical safety. "Again, I'm sorry. I agree, Jack does not strike me as the kind of man to defile a lady."

"Precisely," Gibbs muttered.

Will studied the crew for a few silent moments, and then scrambled to his feet when the door to the brig creaked open, where the two bumbling pirates Pintel and Ragetti sauntered in, carrying a rather aged bucket and a mop that had certainly seen better days. The shorter man plunged the cloth end into the grimy water, obviously not eager to be cleaning the jail room. Pintel, clearly the most aggressive of the pair, held a permanent snarl on his face as he conducted his monotonous task of moving the cleaning utensil haphazardly, every now and then peering up at the young man and narrowing his eyes in suspicion, as if in serious thought. Ragetti, who had been put to the task of scrubbing down the floor with a holystone, would break the other man of his reverie with his busywork, and just like that Pintel would be back to his task.

As Cotton's parrot, perched on the mute man's shoulder, squawked out a random remark, Gibbs smirked mirthlessly. There probably was never any true meaning to the bird's sayings, but he was superstitious enough to avoid questioning the parrot’s validity and often acted as interpreter to those less informed.

"Mr. Cotton here says you missed a bit." Pintel slammed the dripping mop onto the cell bars, and the inhabitants jumped back in response. Will forced back a grin, and then remembered his father's association with these vile infidels and leaned against the iron slats.

"You knew William Turner?" he queried, steeling himself from whatever potentially negative words they'd have to say about the only man he ever looked at as a father figure besides the poor old Mr. Brown back at the blacksmith shop.

Pintel glanced up from his work. "Oh, Bootstrap Bill. We knew him." The pirate's lip pulled back in a sneer, not unlike the piercing, aggressive demeanor of an angry dog, and he bared rotting teeth. "Never sat well with Bootstrap, what we did to Jack Sparrow, the mutiny and all. He said it wasn't right with the Code. That's why he sent off a piece of the treasure to you, as it were. He said we deserved to be cursed…and remain cursed."

"Stupid blighter," Ragetti spat, listening intently to his friend just a hairbreadth away, leaning in attentively.

Gibbs answered swiftly, "Good man." Will's head perked a bit in surprise. He had yet to know that the elder Turner had known anyone other than Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, and the undead crew. Apparently Joshamee Gibbs had as well, had even known him well enough to be confident in Bootstrap’s integrity as a good man.

"But as you can imagine, that didn't sit too well with the captain," Pintel continued, ignoring Gibbs remark and choosing to proceed, fully appreciating the chance to tell the tale of Bootstrap's demise.

Ragetti chuckled. "That didn't sit too well with the captain at all. Tell 'em what Barbossa did."

Pintel exploded, and the slighter man recoiled like a whipped puppy. "I'm telling the story!" he growled, then turned back to face Will, his voice low. "So, what the captain did; he strapped a cannon to Bootstrap's bootstraps—" Ragetti giggled as he repeated the last two words. "—and last we saw of ol' Bill Turner he was sinking to the crushing, black oblivion of Davy Jones' Locker."

Will felt his spirits dwindle at the horrid realization of his father's fate. Death by mutiny, and by a gruesome drowning.

Pintel grew thoughtful. "'Course, it was only after that we learned we needed his blood to lift the curse."

"Now that's what you call ironic," Ragetti added and the two snickered. The occupants of the room were then startled by Barbossa's presence, who stood at the door with the rest of the crew behind him.

Tossing the keys to the iron cages he shouted, "Bring 'im!"

Ragetti caught them and set about unlocking the cell. Will didn't put up a fight as he was yanked from the brig; he knew there would be no point in doing so—the possibility of an escape was nil, and he was severely outnumbered.

The dread he felt started as a cold grip in his middle and it began trickling upward until he felt as though it threatened to clamp his throat shut. He was soon going to discover the feel of a knife slicing through his neck, would feel the blood drain from his body, would watch the men return to their mortality in triumph as he lay dying over a pile of cursed gold. It was doubtful that Jack and Elizabeth could come to his rescue, unlikely that they'd survive themselves.

He was almost frantic enough to run himself through with a sword, to kill himself or be killed to thwart their plans. But Barbossa could sense Will’s desperation and as soon as he was on the topside deck, he was placed in shackles, effectively putting an end to the idea of spoiling their plans.

_

 

"Any sign of the Black Pearl or the Interceptor?" Governor Swann said as Commodore Norrington opened the door to his quarters aboard the Dauntless. The man removed his tricorn hat and sighed wearily.

"No, I'm afraid not, Governor." He moved languidly into the room and took a seat at the table across from the nobly-dressed Weatherby Swann, ever the man of court—even aboard a ship, and he asked his dutiful cabin boy for a cup of tea, then regarded the governor sympathetically. "We'll not give up, mind you. I refuse to cease our search until your daughter is back in Port Royal and safe."

"Thank you, Commodore," the older man said, smiling gratefully. He was nervous about the outcome of his daughter's return since the two men knew what kind of horrors the pirates had most likely bestowed upon Elizabeth, but he attempted to think otherwise. His daughter may be viewed as a ruined woman by the small number of courtiers that inhabited Hispaniola, but he knew it was important to retrieve Elizabeth before proceeding with the restoration of her reputation. The governor cleared his throat. "Which direction is the vessel headed at the moment?"

"Northeast 5 East, now that she's quit of Windward Passage," James replied and the other man merely nodded as he ambled on about nautical distances and positional longitude and latitude. The cabin boy who had the responsibility of refreshments appeared and placed a pair of cups and saucers before his superiors.

"Thank you, Mr. Thomas." Not long after a silent draught of their tea and the cabin boy quietly waiting for his next command, the three heard a familiar call, 'Land ho!' and they rushed to the top deck to see the shore they were approaching.  
James was handed a telescope from an unseen sailor and he peered into it, then felt a glimmer of hope as he spied a ship with tattered black sails moored within the dark, looming volcanic peaks of an unknown island. He knew instantly that this was the Black Pearl. "Heave to windward and drop anchor!" he barked to his crew. "Prepare to launch the longboats!"

The men shouted their affirmation and Lieutenant Gillette approached the Commodore while hurriedly making himself presentable, as he had likely been in the forecastle sleeping. The dog watch had ended for which he had been placed in charge by Norrington as the Commodore decided on a strategy of rescue and/or attack with the Governor—‘eight bells and all was well’ until the call for hands to prepare for landing came. "What's your plan of action, sir?"

James grinned. "We're going to commandeer the Black Pearl, and save ourselves a governor's daughter."


	3. Chapter 3

The dark, towering ship was anchored near a cove, wrapped in a peculiar fog as the Commodore and three longboats of soldiers approached the Black Pearl. Norrington noticed that the pirate ship was ominously quiet…too quiet for his nerves to be at ease. Something was amiss; he could feel the apprehension close in on his senses like a cloak, nearly choking his effort to remain calm. He straightened his shoulders when at last the boat came to rest gently against the flank of the Pearl, and he began climbing up the rungs of wooden planks bolted into the side, his men following in dead silence.

Upon scaling to the deck, right at mid-ship on the outside of the Pearl, Norrington caught the distinct sound of voices coming from a nearby gunport, then made a hushing motion with his finger toward the soldiers and jerked it at the opening to the right of him.

James' hands grasped the rail as he hauled his body over onto the top deck and lightly set his boot-clad feet on the planked floor. He turned, helped his soldiers over and soon, the troop made their silent prowl to seek and destroy any pirates and to find Elizabeth Swann.

Screeech!

His heart made a terrified lurch to his throat at the sound of a dreadful shriek, and then leapt back in horror at the sight of some sort of creature which appeared to be nothing more than a little skeleton with clumps of black and white fur barely concealing its bones. The gruesome figure scurried across the surface and huddled into the shadows, where it suddenly transformed into a harmless tree monkey. James was horribly fascinated by the implausibility of such a bizarre experience, as he likened himself to a man who did not cater to fantasy as many of his sailors did—he desired something that was concrete and irrefutable—the part of his brain that reasoned tried to coax him into thinking he'd seen something other than what it appeared. Trick of the light. He gained back his courage, smacked the little devil in mid-jump with his pistol and sent it over the side.

The Commodore winced at the loud thump that the monkey made as its body landed on a metal surface. It must have fallen onto one of the protruding cannons. He vigorously flung his arms about, gesturing for his men to run down into the below decks and was briefly reminded of Jack Sparrow and all of his peculiar, exaggerated mannerisms. They all paused when the sound of heavy, careless footsteps bounded up the staircase from what must have been the gunnery.

Just as the moon slid behind a cloud and immersed them in near pitch-black darkness, James had his gun at the ready and aimed directly at the larger pirate of the pair who emerged and made a slight smirk of glee at the man's misfortune. But to his astonishment, the psychotic gleam in the pirate's eyes merely doubled and he snatched the flume of the firearm with his meaty hand. James pulled the trigger, the bullet striking the man square in the throat, and closed his eyes at the feel of blood splattering his face. Yet when he looked again, the pirate was grinning savagely despite the fact that his neck was quite literally ripped open.

"Sorry, chap, ain't gonna work!" he growled, little flecks of the crimson liquid spraying from his lips. Before long, the wound in his neck closed over at an unworldly speed until it no longer existed, all that was left in its wake was smooth flesh, and James' previous sense of impending doom recommenced in full force. Just as the monkey had been impossibly skittering around with no skin visible, the man before him had taken a musket shot without blinking and was not even remotely felled by the usually fatal attack.

Yet, despite his own terror and no doubt his soldiers' as well, he and his men made a battle cry, and hurtled themselves toward the two pirates in attack. They had no chance to recover from the shock of such a response. Together, the Royal Navy managed to hoist the undead pirates into the air and offer them the same fate that the ghastly little monkey had endured.

~*~

Gibbs had his stout body pressed against the cell when he recognized the sound of a large quantity of boot-clad feet tromping down the steps to the brig. "Someone's coming!" he barked, and was thoroughly taken-aback by the sight of the James Norrington, a Lieutenant when he'd sailed with him nigh but a decade ago—now a Commodore, no less—and a sea of redcoats who swarmed in around him. "It's the Royal Navy!" The pirate crew stood as helpless as infants in the jail cell, looking on as one of the soldiers handed Norrington the keys from their spot dangling from a nail in the wall. Gibbs felt a sinking numbness when he realized the preordained meeting in the gallows that he'd been given upon his leave of His Majesty's Navy and his introduction to the pirate's would come sooner than he thought. He'd expected a better outcome than sitting in a brig while Turner had his throat slit, perhaps Captain Jack returning unfathomably, as always, managing some clever escape from certain death or imprisonment. Maybe even Will after breaking loose of the pirate's stronghold. But the Commodore?

"Mr. Gibbs," James said, puzzled. "What may I ask are you doing in a pirate's keep?"

Joshamee kept his gaze steady on the younger man. "I think ye'll be knowin' what I'm doing here."

The Commodore pieced it together himself. "You are in affiliation with Sparrow and Turner?" The crew's silence was all the answer he needed. "Very well." He turned to Lieutenant Groves. "Lieutenant, take these men to the boats and row them back to the Dauntless. I'm placing you in charge until my return." Norrington swiveled back to the old seaman. "Gibbs stays with us."

"Aye, sir."

~*~

The pirates paddled their oars in succession and the group drifted slowly down a murky passageway inside the familiar cave of Isla de Muerta, using their torches as a guide through the inky darkness and onward to the pirate's ridiculous hoard of riches, jewels, fine clothing, and of course the cursed gold. The island was one Will had hoped to never see again. The rowboats rocked viciously and Will found it difficult to concentrate. His stomach seemed to list every time the water did and he stared in wonder at Barbossa's menacing figure perched at the bow of the boat. The man was impenetrable; nothing deterred him.

As if the Captain sensed the boy's thoughts were upon him, he turned his head and glared at Will, and under the thin ray of moonlight shining from a hole in the rock overhead, a skull's repulsive grin was in its place. In fact, none of the pirates wore evidence of any flesh under the same beam of light. He'd known the men were cursed, dancing in limbo between life and death, but actually seeing them as walking skeletons was another matter.

Will's belly made another lurch.

"Still wet behind the ears, boy? Even the pretty little poppet kept her supper down," chuckled Pintel with a whimpering giggle from his mate Ragetti.

Will's nauseated grimace changed into a frown at the mention of Elizabeth. What would become of them? This wasn't the way it was supposed to end; what with the girl stranded on a deserted isle with another man and the hero on his way to have his throat slit—he stared up at the blackness above him, cursing Fate. She had dealt him and Elizabeth the wrong hand, and he insisted that their last moments mustn't end this way.

Since the day he'd laid eyes on her he'd fancied her. He had always daydreamed of her as the damsel in distress and he, the lowly apprentice, came to her rescue, won the favor of the governor and ended up marrying her and living happily ever after. If only those were the circumstances—of course, he was a rational young man despite his actions during and after the pirate attack. He knew that clouding his head with illusions was unwise and destined for disappointment.

His thoughts broke off as the boats came to a stop at the embankment in the dusky cave. Pintel and Ragetti snatched his arms and hauled him up and out of the skiff, then dragged him through to the enormous mounds of treasure.

"No reason to fret," the portly man spouted jovially. "Just a prick of the finger, few drops of blood."

Twigg sneered from behind Will's shoulder. "No mistakes this time, he's only half Turner. We spill it all!"

"Guess there is reason to fret," Pintel muttered and the two friends sniggered.

~*~

After effectively taking control of the Black Pearl, Norrington, Gibbs, and his seamen were directed to the inward rocky peaks of Isla de Muerta, creeping into the enclosed labyrinth of water-carved hollow corridors which led to the scene before them and the convenient location that Jack and Will had assumed not very long ago. The Commodore and the company who followed him were observing quietly at the secluded look-out spot, avoiding being discovered by the chanting pirates, as their attention had been taken by the man conducting a rousing speech. Their chief commander stood on a rock pulpit, a large extravagant chest before his feet, and an unfortunate soul with hands bound behind his back. A familiar young man with a tight, somber face. At the sight of Will Turner instead of Elizabeth, James turned to Joshamee Gibbs. He had assumed to find the governor's daughter—expected for the girl to be the object of their filthy wiles, perhaps a victim of ransom as a result of her father's notoriety. "Mister Gibbs, where is Miss Swann?"

"Marooned."

"What was that?" James gasped.

The stout man's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "Barbossa deserted her on an island and left her to die with Captain Sparrow. That was nigh three days ago."

The younger man's eyes widened to saucers. No, he thought, anguished. Not Jack Sparrow! A number of horrid images assaulted his mind, and Norrington recalled the moment of anxiety and fury when the stinking pirate not only stripped her of her dress and corset, but also seized her in his filthy embrace while holding a pistol to her fair head. "She's been alone with that man for three days?"

Joshamee nodded, deciphering the young Commodore's disgust and horror with his own antipathy. "I know what yer thinkin', son. But he has an honest streak in him and wouldn't lay a finger on the lass if she wasn't desirin' him to." Norrington had no choice but to trust his word and Gibbs knew that.

James straightened the broad brim of his naval hat and took a calming breath. He could do nothing more than continue forward with the task that presented itself before him. He'd have to resume his search for Elizabeth once he found a way to save the young blacksmith. Despite his disdain for the boy's unlawful behavior, he understood it, would have probably done the same—and he had an obligation as King James' protector, to serve his countrymen, even those that he didn't very much care for. "So you said that these men need Mr. Turner's blood to lift this curse in order for them to return to mortality?"

Gibbs nodded. He'd been put to the task of recalling the undead crew's tale to the men as they paddled their longboats toward the caves. "Aye, and Captain Barbossa ain't a man to strike bargains with no one, so there can't be much hope to be held out for Will. The boy's bloodline to Bootstrap Bill Turner is what they want, and nothing ye can give them will suffice as an alternative, 'fraid t'say."

Lieutenant Gillette was on the other side of Gibbs, showing his bafflement. "And just how are we supposed to defeat a band of pirates who cannot be killed?"

Gibbs grinned, mostly to himself. "We wait for the opportune moment."


	4. Chapter 4

Watching from the small lookout, Norrington positioned his musket to lie on top of the rock wall. Barbossa's head was in his sights, but the commodore knew that he ran the risk of shooting Will by accident. He wasn't going to be absolutely devastated if the boy were killed by his musket shot—however, he knew he had a duty to protect the people of Port Royal, and that included Will. Regardless of the wariness he felt regarding the young Turner and Miss Swann, he knew that she would likely never accept a request of betrothal to a man who let a close childhood friend die needlessly.

Norrington’s hands shook around the long, heavy firearm, and he truly worried that his nerves would take care of matters of their own volition. Thankfully, the wormy captain in his moth-eaten clothing was going on about Will's father, Bootstrap Bill, the importance of the blood line and the debt owed by the boy because of said ancestral link.

Gibbs whispered fiercely, "Remember, Commodore, that Will must spill his blood to lift the curse. Only then will ye be able to kill Barbossa and his band of pirates!"

"Yes, I believe we have established that, Mr. Gibbs."

"Begun by blood," Barbossa growled, clenching the scruff of Will's shirt in one hand and wielding his large bow knife with the other. "By blood undone!"

Will threw a desperate glance at the savage beasts around him, who were busily grunting and shaking their fists, awaiting his demise to reclaim their mortality. He prayed silently for someone to come to his rescue, but no fanciful interruptions came, not Jack Sparrow's clever distractions, nor a troop of Royal Navymen brandishing their bayonets and threatening death.

Barbossa placed the blade into his neck and to Will's horror, moved to make the first slice, but he was set to thoroughly enjoy himself, and allowed the cut to be superficial by pressing in only a hairbreadth, just enough to draw blood. The captain seemed to relish the wince of pain the young blacksmith made, enjoying the gasp that escape the boy's mouth. Drops of crimson liquid fell, and just as Will expected the final slash at his throat, a bullet zipped by his ear, and Barbossa's decrepit, meaty hand fell away, leaving Will pushed head first into the chest of gold coins. He heard surprised shouts and gunfire, and suddenly realized the miracle he'd hope for was indeed relaying itself before him. He lifted his head, ignoring the white hot pain at his neck and recognized Norrington's figure stepping out bravely, as well as the company that followed. They were attacking the pirates and killing them successfully!

The small wound at his neck had bled enough to mortalize the pirates. Barbossa lay before him at his feet, his eyes glazed and open, but judging by the glazed, vacant expression it was clear the man was dead. A bullet had pierced through the middle of his crown, killing him instantly. Will leaned backward onto the heels of his boots until he felt the body with his hands and picked up the knife stained with his own blood. He managed to free himself from the rope that had restrained him, then made a quick movement to touch the tender, opened skin at his throat, thankful the cut was rather small, then grabbed Barbossa's sword and jumped into the crowd of fighting men.

The renewed hope allowed him to outdo one of the larger pirates, the boatswain, as he made a downward strike with the pirate captain's weapon, and then kicked him away, causing the man to tumble into the standing water of the cave.

"Mr. Turner!" Norrington called, obviously shocked that the blacksmith had gotten away virtually unscathed, save for his neck, which trickled with blood. "I have to say I'm quite pleased you escaped the hand of death."

Will nodded. "Thank you, Commodore." He crouched into a defensive position, sword ready, as the soldiers backed the pirates into the cave wall, swords and bayonets daring them to move. The majority of the infidels were dead, and those who were still alive didn't appear to put up much of a fight. Only about five soldiers lie dead, so clearly waiting for the right moment and using the element of surprise had been highly effective, resulting in a quick and overwhelming defeat.

Pintel, Ragetti and the rest of the surviving men finally dropped their weaponry and grinned sheepishly, holding up their hands in surrender, knowing they had no chance of getting away. "Uh..." Pintel trembled. "Parley?"

~*~

The trip back to the Dauntless was far more pleasant and dignified than the last time Will had been on board ship. His body was exhausted from the anxiety of potentially losing his life, as well as the stress of knowing Elizabeth remained on the island with Jack. After the remaining pirates were locked away in the brig, the ship was positioned to sail back to Port Royal and when the blacksmith discovered this, he impulsive sought out and confronted Norrington with his objections the moment the naval head made his reappearance from below decks.

"Commodore," he pressed, approaching the man as he placed his hat atop his head and brushed his hands down the prim suit. Clearly he had an opportunity to clean himself up and change out of the bloodied clothing. Will was not so fortunate. Norrington spoke with the helmsman, and then stood to his fullest height at Will’s hurried gait, briefly glancing at the stained garments before returning his gaze.

"Yes, Mr. Turner."

"When will we begin the search for Miss Swann?" Will asked eagerly.

The man sighed indignantly. "I fully intend on a search for the governor’s daughter as soon as we address some very urgent matters. Regretfully, they take precedence at the moment."

Will's stomach sank like stone, his mouth hanging open in shock. "She's going to die if we don't leave now!"

“I understand the urgency, but—“

“Commodore, she will starve to death, and Jack Sparrow will be the last man she will ever lay eyes on. Is that what you want for her?” Will grabbed the man’s lapels and the helmsman stepped forward immediately to pry the boy off of his leader. Norrington held his hand up, and then shrugged Will off of him.

"Mr. Turner," Norrington uttered, much like he'd done after Will demanded action when Elizabeth had been kidnapped. Could that have only been days ago? "We have no way of knowing if she is still alive at this moment. As much as it pains me to have to leave her, possibly to her death, I have a responsibility to my men, and the ships are in desperate need of repair. They sustained heavy damage during the firefight."

“There’s the Black Pearl! I can use her to rescue Elizabeth, can I not?”

“Turner, the Black Pearl needs the most repairs between the two. She is taking on water. Fortunately, Sparrow’s crew has agreed to patch up the leaks. If they are successful in keeping her from sinking, then we just might get her back to Port Royal.”

"Please, sir," Will begged, hating how desperate he sounded. "Would it be possible to take a longboat and row back to the island?"

James shot a look at the boy that indicated he thought he'd lost his mind. "Don't be absurd, Turner. As soon as the Dauntless and the Pearl are seaworthy, we will resume our search." With that, the commodore swiveled and left, no doubt heading toward his quarters. Will was frustrated to the point of violence and he couldn't help but feel crushed. To go from a miraculous save to learning the love of his life was being left to die? There was no telling how long repairs would take!

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he whispered.

"Worry not, young Turner," a gruff voice sounded off to the right. The young man turned in the direction of the voice and his gaze fell upon Gibbs, who stood lazily against the rail of the Dauntless. "All is not lost."

Will's frustration made his answer short as his teeth clenched together angrily. "I am getting tired of your ridiculous pirate malarkey. Just tell me what you mean, Mr. Gibbs!"

Gibbs was unruffled. He was a pirate after all. Poor etiquette was his forte. “Commodore Norrington is a fool for his arrogance, as not even the love of a fair lady like Miss Elizabeth compares to his own vanity. Norrington does not know that the Pearl is the most steadfast ship of the Spanish Main. If he truly wanted to fetch the maiden from the island, he could very well do that. No, what he desires is having two ships instead of one, and the favor of the governor and the King himself when he returns to Port Royal with a notorious band of pirates and the infamous Black Pearl in his possession.”

“You think he doesn’t aim to save Elizabeth?”

Gibbs languidly scratched the gray beard on his face, deep in thought. “Perhaps he does, but his pride will always come first. Do not be surprised if it takes days, possibly a week to sail in the direction of the island. That is, if he can find it.”

“I’ll do anything, Gibbs. Please help me find her!”

The older pirate grabbed the boy’s arms to calm him. “Turner! I plan to save Elizabeth, same as you!”

The determined fire gained strength inside of Will, and he brushed off the older man’s grip with a renewed enthusiasm. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Gibbs chuckled. “Pick yer battles, son. We be severely outnumbered.”

Will crossed his arms defiantly. “Jack and I alone were able to commandeer the Interceptor without a wound to show for it. We’re wasting precious time sitting here on this ship when we could be sailing back to that island and saving Elizabeth from starvation, exposure, or worse!”

“Quiet!” Gibbs hissed, grabbing the boy’s shirt and practically hauled him to a shaded area of the ship. Two soldiers traipsed by with their weapons tucked under their arms; their boots made mellow clicking noises as they went. “We must wait—“

“For the opportune moment, yes,” Will muttered sarcastically.

~*~

At sundown of the second day, the last remnants of the rumrunner’s cache had been consumed by the two marooned individuals, and he could not help but thank his maker for their discovery of a bottle of amber liquid, buried, unscathed amidst the burned rubble of the cache. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two of them, leaving both to their own thoughts. Jack closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, but the girl remained on his mind. She hadn’t entirely left it since the day he first met her, but he was now imagining what had transpired between the two of them their first night since the marooning.

Perhaps he’d gotten what he deserved. Just as she had a plot to get him intoxicated enough to carry out her plans, so he did as well. His scheme had been to get the girl drunk and enjoy himself rightfully while he still had the life in his body to do so, but the plan had backfired in the morning, as she destroyed the cache and his dreams of drinking his way into the grave.

Elizabeth toyed with the end of her dirty shift and sighed, absolutely refusing to look at Jack. The lithe, sun-kissed body spread out in the sand bathed in orange by the firelight reminded her of the actions she’d taken in order to get the man to fall into a rum-soaked slumber. Wasn’t as easy as she had anticipated. She supposed she should have contemplated this since he was after all a pirate and on a ship spirits were often considered more trustworthy than water—he, just like so many other sailors, had developed a stealthy tolerance to the effects of the drink, whereas a fair thing like she would be thoroughly inebriated had she attempted to match the magnitude of his consumption.

She moved to pass over him after her contemplation, but he made a throaty chuckle and pulled on her hand until she lay in the crook of his shoulder. She made an exasperated yelp from the sudden downward motion, immediately attempting to escape the confines of his grasp, but she stilled herself at the simple comfort of being embraced by another.

She could feel her pulse thumping wildly in her breast, as she had never been in such a compromising position with a man before and it brought forth irritating and exciting feelings to her insides. She could feel the curve of his ribs against her abdomen, but he avoided turning completely, choosing to lay prone on his back. The sensation of Jack and the fire enveloped her in a blanket of heat. Jack’s chest rose and fell gently, calming her racing heart significantly.

“Jack,” she whispered over his semi-exposed torso. She hoped with all her might that he was finally asleep, but a tiny, secret, evil-bred feeling buried deep inside of her wanted him to be awake.

Apparently, Fate had decided to listen to this evil desire. Jack’s eyes moved beneath the lids. “Hmm?’ came a low purr. Elizabeth found she rather liked that sound with her ear crushed against his chest.

“I’m still not drunk enough for that kind of talk,” she whispered to cover up the tremble in her voice.

“Ah, but I am, darling,” he said in a way that lit her cheeks on fire. Elizabeth wondered what exactly he intended to do since they were lying in quite a suggestive position that would cause her father to faint dead away had he witnessed the sight. But he stirred finally, only to move his square, brown hands from lying unused in the sand up to caress the dip in her waist. This caused all manners of sparks to fire across her skin, especially where the man’s weathered fingers pressed into her shift. “Not drunk enough, eh?”

Elizabeth glared, but with her cheek resting on his breastbone, all that caught the withering look was his shirt. And now that his shirt came to attention, she realized that her hand rested near the opened part of it. A pure child-like impulse churned within her to pull the fabric away and look at the twin bullet wound scars tattooed dark by gunpowder. His body, the scars he bore, proved that there were so many tales to be told, sagas she had yet to hear.

“How did it happen, Jack?” she asked timidly, her fingers touching the area where they were hidden.

“Hmm…wha’?” he mumbled.

“The bullet wounds. Where did they come from? Honestly?”

Had she glanced upward, she would have caught his sobering frown. “Oh, yes. Those.”

“Did you really get them from an East India Company soldier as you raided their hold off the port of the Hooghly River?”

“I’ll say I did! Got the brand not long before then. Some whelp fresh into the rank of lieutenant hardly enough of a man to grow whiskers burnt it into my arm himself.”

“And a gypsy woman saved you by dressing as a man and looked after you during your convalescence?”

He grinned at the mention. “Ah, yes. She was a belly dancer from Calcutta, that girl, very talented. I met her a month prior during one of her performances and found her most pleasant. Also provided lovely services afterward.”

“What was her name?” Elizabeth asked, her mind vivid with women dancing seductively, colorful silk flying, soldiers shouting.

“She called herself Jasmine, although she eventually admitted it was a name she used for entertainment purposes only. She said she picked it up after moving to that splendid city.” He opened his eyes to stare off into the night sky. “Never knew her real name, though we shared many a great moment. She was a spirited lass, more so than yourself, if that is at all possible.”

“Probable, you mean?” she teased.

“Ah, right, probable is the correct term. Excellent. I see you’ve been paying attention.” Jack smiled. “She had hair down to her thighs, dear Jasmine. Always in a fuss about brushing it, until she chose to keep it braided.”

“Did she braid yours?” the girl asked, touching one of the black plaits carefully.

“Actually, yes, she did.”

Elizabeth hummed contentedly. “I would love to see such a place.”

“What’s stopping you, then? If it is the belief that a woman does not belong aboard a ship, well, I’ve sailed with many a lady and they can be quite useful.”

Elizabeth pushed herself up with an arm, casting a serious glance in his direction. “A lady of my upbringing guarantees a life already planned out and determined for me. Once I return to Port Royal, Commodore Norrington plans to ask for my hand in marriage, and then I will be expected to be at his arm, at court, attending parties, having children, and fawning over his greatness with the other ladies of breeding until I die. As long as I am the governor’s daughter, I will never see Calcutta, or Singapore, or any of the other places you’ve seen.”

Jack stared at her uncertainly, and then frowned at her in his usual daft manner. “Well, then, I s’pose you’ll have to become a pirate, then!”

“Me, a pirate?” she asked, feigning disgust.

“Why, of course! Seeing as me crew’s abandoned their captain, I’ll need a first mate.” He eyed her with the intensity of a man with one too many drinks in his gut. “You’ll have to start with grunt work—swabbing and holystoning the decks, furling sails, running the bilge pump—t’ain’t glamorous, but one must start somewhere. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes. But it sounds far more interesting than any day in Port Royal.”

Jack pushed himself up, shaking the sand from his person and Elizabeth moved to her haunches, still uneasy about the proximity of their bodies. He stuck out a jeweled hand, and she reluctantly grasped his. He shook it firmly. “It’s settled then! When we find a way off of this speck, you will be my second-in-command.”

Elizabeth watched him amusingly and chuckled, appreciating his humor. She knew the likelihood of her becoming his first mate was nil, but the idea brightened her from the cloying depths of depression that had settled into her consciousness since tumbling overboard the Pearl. “All right, agreed. Now, finish the story of Jasmine, the Calcutta entertainer and your escape from the Hooghly.”

He grinned boisterously. “Ah, yes. Where were we?”

“Braids, dancing, and gunfire.”

The story continued until Jack noticed the girl had nodded off, head tipped to the side against a well-positioned rock. He’d have been offended if it were anyone else, but he realized with the sudden, burgeoning insight that he was becoming fond of the lass. He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders and settled her into the sand, pausing to watch her small movements. The dastardly, inappropriate pirate in him let his eyes wander past the smoothness of her chest and further over the curve of her breasts and his fingers twitched with the desire to run along the soft surface. But he couldn’t do that to the girl. No, he would be a gentleman to this one, although it felt absurd to honor such rules since he made it a point to break them for a living.

He wasn’t enough of a proper chap to keep himself from lying next to her, an undignified move for an unmarried woman of station. He grinned at the night sky, and then let his eyes slip closed.

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate comments/favs! Whatever comes my way.


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